


Actions and Words

by ConsultingHound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 3 forbidden words, Fluff, Lemons, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sasquatch, also a taxidermy goat is mentioned, and the word platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingHound/pseuds/ConsultingHound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The amazing Atlin Merrick posted some prompts for people on her Tumblr and I chose this one: ' The three words John/Sherlock has forbidden Sherlock/John from saying and why.' Then I asked a friend to think of 3 words and well, this happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions and Words

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [行为比语言更有力](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276932) by [RictinaM_Z](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RictinaM_Z/pseuds/RictinaM_Z)



> Summary says it all really except for my friend Liz is over at fizzbatch.tumblr.com picked the 3 words for me so I am in her debt so you guys should go check out her blog and I hope you guys enjoy the randomness.

There are many things Sherlock is allowed to do. 

He’s allowed to keep heads in the fridge and his experiments on the table, he’s allowed to litter the flat with papers and samples of mould and walk around in just a sheet, he’s allowed to wake John at pointlessly early times in order to run around half of London chasing potentially armed criminals and on one particularly memorable moment he was allowed to keep a taxidermy goat in the sitting room for 4 weeks to prove an alibi.  Well, by allowed, this means John will nag and moan occasionally and threaten mass clean out/ moving Sherlock in with Mrs Hudson for a week/ withdrawal of sex/ withdrawal of _tea_ and Sherlock will continue to ignore him because deep down they both know that John doesn’t _really_ mind these things.  It’s the thought of other people minding these things that forces a part of his brain to make an attempt at normalcy and because Sherlock knows that John likes to appear normal at times, he goes along with the charade until John finishes his huffing and life can move on.

However there are certain things that Sherlock is most definitely _not_ allowed to do.  The list is not very long and hasn’t ever been spoken.  It includes things like never allowing any of John’s 3 main jumpers, the centre pieces of his entire wardrobe, to be used in an experiment.  Any of the others are fine (well, fine in the sense that John will shout at him for a bit before going to sulk somewhere) but those 3, no.  Just no. 

It involves anything to do with quizzing John on his nightmares.  Although they barely happen anymore, the odd one’s that occur leave him frustratingly both needing space and needing Sherlock’s presence constantly as a reassurance.  It involves anything to do with the colour taupe (don’t ask) and _the 3 words_. 

The 3 little words.  The letters that, when combined, will nearly _always_ cause John to do that _thing_.  The standing and breathing deeply and the calm, blank expression and the _leaving_ thing.  Sherlock cannot stand the leaving thing, for what is he without his blogger?  So John cannot leave on any principle and that sometimes involves Sherlock restraining himself from doing things, such as uttering these syllables. 

The problem with these 3 words is they are all relatively mundane words for normal, idiotic human beings who should clearly know that upsetting John is unacceptable and don’t seem to see the significance of these words and so makes Sherlock’s job of protecting John from any feeling of turmoil extremely exhausting. 

The first word that Sherlock is forbidden to say upon pain-of-not-having-John is ‘Sasquatch’.  This is one that wasn’t actually anything to do with Sherlock personally but everything to do with one Harriet Watson.  When they were younger, both John (8) and Harry (11) were engaged in what can only be called a war.  Their competitive streaks outstripped even the most power driven child and there was only one rule: _Don’t let the other win_.  This, of course, led to cheating, bribery, the neighbour’s cats, various fights and at least 6 broken bones a-piece and competitions that lasted weeks if not months at a time.  But the worst, absolute _worst_ idea they had was the war of the horror stories.  Both will spend their last breaths swearing it wasn’t _them_ who started it, but the fact is it happened and now neither can go into a public swimming pool without feeling a clench of fear.  But one day, Harry took it too far.  The story about the myth that is Big Foot has never been relayed to Sherlock but from what he can gather it has not only left John with an irrational hatred of the being in its entirety, including the mere mention of its name, but also was one of the reasons why John refuses to go anywhere where in the Pacific Northwest ( _wherever that is; Sherlock doesn’t care much for Geography other than that relevant to himself)_. 

The second word is the innocent looking ‘lemon’.  Sherlock does have the grace to admit that this may have been, at least partially, his own fault.  However, in his defence, it did aid him in the significant progress on a case and it did put another criminal behind bars and for that he feels he deserves some leeway.  Also, contrary to popular opinion, he cannot actually force John to do anything he does not truly want to do.  Thus it cannot be solely his fault that, upon filing the flat with precisely 2704 lemons and proving the students alibi to be correct, he had to do something with them.  It wasn’t completely his fault that, upon completing a detailed examination on the properties of said lemons, he began to get bored and experimented on them.  Specifically the impact that can be achieved by a lemon when approaching a wall.  Or a cupboard.  Or the sofa.  Or the bison skull.

John’s reaction on returning home to a flat covered in lemon juice and skins and insides, splattered on the walls and the surfaces and on the curly haired detective stretched out on the lemon covered sofa was...less than pleasant.  How was he supposed to know John had a severe aversion to citrus smells anyway?  The overall impact of _that_ event was the flat got deep cleaned for the first time in ever, John got no less than 4 cups of tea and 2 new jumpers from Sherlock the next day as an apology (the jumpers were destroyed 6 weeks later but the tea was nice and it was the gesture that really mattered) and the word lemon was never mentioned again. 

The last word is one that Sherlock imposed himself and the only one that makes John act differently to any other forbidden thing.  The word that neither uses is ‘platonic’.  They used to be _that word_ and that was fine, more than fine, brilliant, illuminating but when heated words and fierce kisses and a trail of clothes led to a shut bedroom door, the word became obsolete in their lives.  They were and now they weren’t.  Simple. 

They remained in a bubble of soft lips and nips of teeth and moans and shivers until the _moment_ happened.  The moment that Sherlock panicked and John entered the kitchen with bleary eyes and a smile, wondering why the other side of the bed was unoccupied, until he saw Sherlock sat straight in the uncomfortable chair with only his dressing gown and one sock they’d obviously missed on, his sleep mussed hair wild.  John sighed slightly and walked back into the bedroom, throwing his own dressing gown on and returning. 

Sherlock hadn’t so much as blinked. 

Now some may say that direct questions often lead to direct answers.  John knows Sherlock better than that.  Ask Sherlock a direct question and you get 3 insults, 2 theories and an excessive eye roll before you get anything resembling the answer you wanted.  No, the best thing to do was let Sherlock work it out in his own mind first.  He would speak when he was ready. 

“You said we were platonic.”

“When did I say that?” John asked, peering at whatever was growing in the dish in front of him, acting casual. 

“In your blog,” Sherlock said, his voice precise but void of emotion.  Facts.  John knew that Sherlock could deal with facts.  Emotions and feelings and wild things were a distraction, an abstract concept that was unfathomable. 

“Well the last time I wrote in my blog we were.”

“But we aren’t anymore.” 

“No, I think we’ve crossed that bridge, don’t you,” John smiled.  Sherlock looked off into space for a moment, processing, before turning back. 

“Considering that platonic means confined to words that don’t lead to practical action then I would suggest that we have never been merely platonic John.  You ran on cases with me and make me eat and sleep and on that very first night you shot that cabbie for me.  I would hardly suggest that you have been inactive in displaying your affection John, even if you didn’t realise it.  I wish-” he cut himself off, looking wary for a moment, as if the thought had snuck up on him without him realising.  “I wish I could say what I was feeling John.  I wish there were words to describe the way the sunlight changes the colour of your hair, or your eyes crinkle when you laugh, could explain what I feel when I hear you running beside me or feel your breath on my skin.  But I cannot and so in a way all we have is our actions.  That’s all we’ve ever had John, do you see?”

John considered explaining people’s usual definition of platonic but couldn’t because a huge chunk of affection for the daft idiot in front of him was currently blocking any words from escaping.  So he proved the uncharacteristically worried Sherlock correct instead.  As his arms wrapped around him, Sherlock huffed a laugh and rested his head on John’s chest. 

“I don’t want to use the word platonic anymore.”

“Okay,” John agreed.  “Now, will you come back to bed?  It’s only 5 in the morning.”

Now when anyone uses the word ‘platonic’, instead of walking away like with the other forbidden things, John will shuffle slightly closer to Sherlock, lace their fingers together and squeeze just once before letting go again because more often than not Sherlock’s _busy_.  Not too busy to let his lips quirk into a smile at the touch or return the favour.  Not too busy to appreciate all the things, little and big they do for each other.  Neither of them mentions it but that’s alright. 

They know, just like they both know the list of forbidden things.

It doesn’t need to be spoken or discussed or explained because sometimes, just sometimes, actions do speak louder than words.  


End file.
